Cousin Ama was on a visit. She’s from our village many miles away. It’s been three years since we left. And a lot has happened within those three years that memories of our past lives in the village were slowly eroding.

Cousin’s visit revived many of those fading memories. As I overheard the conversation between Cousin Ama and dad, suddenly many faces that were sinking into my subconscious were resurfacing. Uncle Ato, Serwaa, Joe, Nanni, Kylian, Adwoa, Willie and bro. Charles…

I remembered the journey to the village river one Saturday to wash our clothes. Our parents were away on a trip. And one cousin of ours volunteered to wash our clothes while we went swimming in the river, keeping an eye on traps we set for fish some distance from where we swam.

I remember the heaviness in our legs when we stepped out of the river after about an hour of swimming. Back then much of our village was bush. And as we looked hundreds of miles beyond the vegetation around the river, all we saw were stretches of savanna grasslands punctuated occasionally by strands of houses owned by the fulani.

Cousin Ama later told me about major changes in our village.

There was now electricity in the village, and the main road connecting our village to neighboring ones was tarred.

Many young men and women in the village were very enthusiastic about their education and so a number of them were becoming prominent people within and outside the village.

As she spoke, I tried to picture light in our village. It was a hard picture to imagine. I still saw the darkness that engulfed the village at night, except a few lanterns roaming around like fireflies, or flickering from some homes far off from ours. I was told I wouldn’t recognize the place when I go there. In my mind, the image of stretches of virgin lands across the village still lingers, till the day I set foot there.

I’m sure the experience will be traumatizing when I go there as I try to reconcile the two images, the image of a quiet, peaceful little village and its updated version, a big busy town.

Cousin Ama also spoke of a new TV station in the village and the few lucky people who could afford a television. One of those was Uncle Charles, whose house became the village Netflix center. The way Uncle Charles loved women, I can’t imagine the joy on his face now that circumstances had brought him an electronic bait to which women were glued like flies.

There were other news. Of one very respectable elder in the village. Mr. Klu. He was in his late forties, still a bachelor. And some concerned relatives put their heads together and got him a responsible wife from a neighboring village. She came based on the recommendation of some notable people.

It turned out Mr. Klu had lots of character defects well hidden within his skin that only the laser light of marriage could expose. The shameful things cousin Ama narrated he did to his wife, they were incredible.

I still remember the face of the woman he was married to. A very kind, smiling face, though a mature one, with a voice you never heard raised. Everyone spoke of her virtues and wisdom and kindness.

There were many things Cousin Ama brought from the village aside the tubers of yam and smoked meat. She also came with fresh news and fresh gossip, seasoned with every natural spice that could be found in the village, leaving a lasting impression on the tongue and mind long after she returned to her family back home.